A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery - Annie Burrows Mills & Boon Historical

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claimed? Had he been so close to his sister that he’d let slip some things which should have been kept secret?

      Or had she merely stumbled across the picture when she’d been going through his personal effects? He thought he’d cleared Herbert’s rooms thoroughly, but perhaps there had been some papers hidden in a place that only she knew about.

      Which changed everything. He’d been determined to carry on shielding her from the people who’d killed her brother, by persuading anyone who might care to see that he had no interest in her and, therefore, no connection to her whatsoever, now that Herbert was dead.

      But if Herbert had let something slip...

      He had to warn her that if anyone suspected she had information, of any sort, relevant to Herbert’s work, then she would be in danger. Dammit, somebody had killed her brother rather than let him pass on whatever it was he’d discovered that last night.

      And Herbert would never forgive him if Horatia became the next person on that assassin’s list.

      Dammit, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

       Chapter Three

      Horatia was a few yards beyond the paved area surrounding the chapel, which contained monuments to generations of deceased Norringtons, the family from which the current Duke had sprung, when she became aware of rapid footsteps crunching over the gravel behind her.

      She’d been walking so fast, driven by a volatile mixture of anger, humiliation and determination to just show them—whoever ‘them’ might be—that the person she could hear must be determined to catch up with her.

      She braced herself to deal with whatever accusations or recriminations she might have to face. And sighed with relief, after glancing over her shoulder, to see that it was Lady Elizabeth who was drawing up behind her.

      ‘Well,’ said Lady Elizabeth, slowing down to match her pace to Horatia’s, ‘you certainly know how to make an exit.’

      Since Horatia could hear a distinct thread of amusement in her friend’s tone, she knew she hadn’t mortally offended her. Still, she owed her friend an apology. ‘I’m so sorry for my...outburst,’ she said. ‘I swore that I would give you what little support I could in the days surrounding the Duke’s wedding. Instead, I’ve just given your mother even more reason to berate you.’

      ‘At least if she is complaining about your behaviour, she isn’t complaining about mine,’ pointed out Lady Elizabeth with a wry smile.

      ‘As if you made the Duke fall for Miss Underwood,’ scoffed Horatia. ‘It is obvious to anyone who sees them together that they have eyes for nobody else,’ she added, jerking her head in the direction of the couple who were strolling along arm in arm along another gravelled path which led in the direction of the house. Making Horatia aware she had not taken the most direct route.

      ‘Ah, but,’ said Lady Elizabeth, aping her mother’s frosty tones, ‘if I had only exerted myself more, I could have eclipsed her.’

      Horatia made a very unladylike noise, expressed partially through her nose, to demonstrate what she thought of that particular argument.

      ‘You cannot make a man fall for you, or even notice you, unless he chooses to do so,’ said Horatia morosely, coming to a standstill. Could she strike out across the lawn and join the path along which the Duke and his intended were walking? Or would that draw even more attention to herself and the fact that she’d shot out of the chapel in such a state of turmoil that she hadn’t even been able to steer her feet in the correct direction?

      ‘I...had wondered about your, um, fascination with Lord Devizes,’ said Lady Elizabeth, coming to a halt as well. ‘I did not like to say anything, but...’

      ‘You cannot think that I have a tendre for him?’ Horatia gaped at her. ‘Or that, if I did, I would fling myself at him, like one of the muslin company?’

      ‘No. Neither,’ said Lady Elizabeth staunchly. ‘Which is what makes your...’ She lowered her head and traced a swirl through the gravel with the tip of her parasol. ‘No, no, I shall not pry. I have enough of people telling me how to live my life to know how detestable that is. Only...’ She paused as if choosing her words with care. ‘I am a little worried. You seem...’

      Horatia turned her head away from Lady Elizabeth and studied instead the direction of the path they were on. After a bit there was a fork to the left which would lead back to the house, rather than on to the formal gardens. Which solved her most immediate problem. However, she still wasn’t sure she could confide in Lady Elizabeth about her motives for coming here. Although they called each other friend, they’d only fallen into each other’s company after catching each other rolling their eyes at a particularly fatuous comment made by an extremely pompous Member of Parliament who’d been invited to speak at The Ladies Society for the Advancement of Scientific Knowledge. They’d gravitated to each other over the teacups, then started looking out for each other at various other meetings they both attended. It had only been after Herbert’s death that Lady Elizabeth had started visiting her house and offering what comfort she could. But since Aunt Matilda had always refused to let Horatia’s visitors drive her from her own sitting room, she’d never had an opportunity to tell Lady Elizabeth that she was practically certain that her brother had been deliberately murdered, rather than being the victim of a robbery.

      Perhaps it was time she did. She certainly owed her some sort of explanation for the tantrum she’d thrown just now. And since nobody else was taking this path she could speak freely without being overheard.

      ‘Herbert was murdered,’ said Horatia, setting off once more along their path.

      ‘Yes, I know,’ said Lady Elizabeth, setting out beside her. ‘And I know how it shocked you. As indeed it shocked everyone who knew him. It is an awful thing that a man may not walk home from...even from the kind of place to which...that is...’

      ‘He had been to a gaming hell, you mean,’ said Horatia. Which was, possibly, true. But he hadn’t been killed during the course of a robbery. She just knew it. ‘And, yes, he was in one of the poorer parts of London. But it wasn’t—’ she stopped short of saying that it had been no accident. Herbert had been so insistent that nobody knew about her involvement in his work. That it might put her in danger. So...if she told Lady Elizabeth, might it put her in danger, too? ‘That doesn’t mean he deserved to die,’ she finished, lamely, ‘does it?’

      ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Well, then,’ she continued, focusing on one of her views which was perfectly safe to air, ‘don’t you think that somebody should be trying to find out who killed him? But nobody is! They came and stood in my aunt’s sitting room and droned on about the deplorable dangers of the streets of London at night and said there was nothing anyone could do, that if gentlemen frequented such areas these things happened, that—’ She broke off, as the resentment at the way those men had spoken to her, as though she was an idiot, swelled up all over again.

      ‘And you thought that Lord Devizes might be able to...what, exactly? It isn’t as if a man like him,’ Lady Elizabeth said with a hint of derision, ‘would stir himself to go looking for criminals, is it?’

      Oh, if only she knew! From what Herbert had told her, Lord Devizes had already unmasked a couple of plots against the government and brought several criminals to justice. Because of his rank, and his well-known propensity for pursuing unsavoury pastimes, he could move with ease anywhere from the highest ton parties to the lowest gaming hells without anyone raising an eyebrow. What was more, in society, people regarded him as, well, the way Lady Elizabeth did. As an idle, wealthy, wastrel. They didn’t see the more serious side of his nature, because he kept it so well hidden behind a sort of mask. To look at the amused, indolent expression he generally adopted, nobody could possibly guess what he was really thinking. Or even suspect he was thinking very much at all.

      Which

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